Hong Kong Saga
by Sleeping Insomniac
Summary: Leaving China to live with England. Leaving England to live with China. Finding a happy medium. Hong Kong's POV, implied England/China and USA/Japan.
1. Hong Kong

England and I are going to the boat, but China runs down the dock and grabs his arm, yelling and crying. I've never seen him cry before. He didn't cry when Taiwan was running in the house and broke his favorite vase. He didn't cry when Korea said that pandas were from his country and tried to sneak one of the bears onto his boat. He didn't cry when Japan left home.

_He's a child! You can't take him with you. You can't do this!_

Once, I fell and scraped my knee. China ran over and cleaned it and put a bandage on it. I cried the whole time because it stung, and I didn't see that rock, and Korea and Japan didn't trip. When China was done, he looked up and smiled at me.

_Don't cry, Hong Kong. It's not that bad. It's just a little scrape. You're a big boy now, so don't cry, okay?_

He'll still cry. He cries about everything!

Korea was laughing at me. Japan didn't say anything, but he thought I was a crybaby, too. I could tell.

I wiped my eyes and thought of a hundred things I could say to them. _I'm no crybaby. I do not cry about everything! You're so stupid!_ I couldn't say those things in front of China, though. He wouldn't like it.

So I stopped crying. Big boys don't cry.

I stopped playing with Korea and Japan, too. Big boys weren't big enough to play with bigger boys.

_Please...you've taken everything else. Please don't take him away from me._

England won a war with China. When the war started, I thought that England made China and me alike: we were big boys, but not bigger boys. England is taller than China, and stronger. He picked me to go with him after the war. I didn't really want to go at first, not when China and I had somehing new in common, but now China is crying, and big boys don't cry.

China and I aren't the same anymore.

England is a bigger boy than China, just like Korea and Japan are bigger boys than me. Even so, just like China and I aren't the same, England isn't like Korea or Japan, either. When China screams and hits him, he doesn't tease China for being weak or hit him back even harder. He just stands there and lets China cry and yell and slap him. He doesn't say anything.

Finally, England grabs China's hands and says something to him, something quiet that I can't hear. China seems really surprised, but when England lets go of him, he just hits him harder, slapping him across the face.

_You have _no idea_ how I feel, you bastard!_

When he takes my hand and we walk to the boat, England's hand is very soft, and his cheek is very red. He doesn't look back once. I look back the whole way onto the ship. China is still crying.

The ship pulls out of the harbor, and I lean over the side to watch China as we sail away. England stands next to me but doesn't look at China.

"Are you sad to be leaving?" he asks me.

"Yes."

"You aren't crying," he says.

"Big boys don't cry," I say. England looks at China.

"Sometimes they do," he says, "when they hurt."

"Is China hurt?"

"Yes."

England's voice sounds funny, and I look up at him. He isn't crying like China is, but his eyes are a little wet.

"Do _you_ hurt?" I ask. England laughs, but he doesn't sound happy.

"Yes," he says. "I hurt."


	2. England

For the last few years, many people have been telling me that I would be leaving England's house soon and going back to China. The first time someone said something like that, I ignored it. When more and more people started to say the same thing, though, I asked England if it were true. He didn't say anything at first, but then he smiled - the same crooked smile he always has when he's uneasy - ruffled my hair, and said, "Yes."

I asked him why I had to leave. He told me that China missed me. I said that I could visit China and come back afterwards. England said, "No."

I remember leaving China when I was very small, but the memory is vague. I don't remember living in China - not really. I only remember getting on the boat and being a little seasick because it was a long time ago, and boats weren't as sturdy then. I remember holding England's hand so that I didn't get lost.

England has told me over and over again how he was so afraid of spoiling me. When we first arrived in London, he took me to his house and showed me my new room. It was enormous, and my bed was huge. I had my own dresser, my own desk, my own bookshelves, and my own closet. The room was empty, though. I didn't say anything - it wouldn't be polite - but I thought that England read my mind when he spoke.

"I didn't put anything in your room because I wasn't sure what you would like," England said, crouching down so that he was at my eye level. "I thought that you would like to pick out your own things. You can fill this room with anything you want."

I wanted everything.

England took me out shopping. China had taught me to be grateful for the things that I had in life and not to be selfish, but England assured me that picking out a few things to decorate my new room wasn't a bad thing.

The first place we went sold clothes. At first, I picked what was least expensive; I didn't want to be a burden on England. He made me put them back and try on the nicer clothes that cost more money. I didn't want him to spend so much, but when I tried on the things that he'd picked, they felt better. The cheap pants were stiff and scratchy, but these ones were silky and comfortable. They felt like my clothes.

_A fine choice, sir,_ the salesman said, his grin wide and insincere. _Top-of-the-line right there - made of silk imported straight from China!_

England looked away.

After clothes, we bought shoes, but even the expensive ones didn't feel like mine. They were harder and tighter, and England had to tie the laces for me. We went to another store to buy a quilt for my bed. Shopping was practical - I needed these things, after all - and I appreciated that England was spending so much money and buying me brand new things, but I was a child, and I was bored. England looked over at me in the car, then leaned forward and whispered something to the driver, who smiled and turned the car around.

"Close your eyes," England told me, and I thought about how green his eyes were. I had never seen eyes that color in China.

I did what I was told, and the car came to a stop. I heard the door open, and I felt England's warm hand holding mine and tugging on it. I slid out of the seat, eyes still closed, and stood next to him.

"Okay, you can open them," he said. I did, and we were standing in front of another store, but this one was better than the others. It was filled with toys.

England always worries that he spoiled me. "I was so afraid that you would hate living with me," he told me once. "I told myself that I wanted you to have the things to adjust, but I think that I was really trying to buy your love."

"I don't care too much for money. Money can't buy me love," I told him once, reciting a line I'd heard from a song on the radio. He laughed until he cried.

My first night in England's house, I put on new pajamas, and England sat on the side of my bed and read me a "bed-time story" about a boy who climbed a beanstalk, met a giant who could smell English blood, and stole a goose that laid golden eggs. He made faces and used funny voices for all of the different characters. At the end of the story, England tucked me into bed and kissed my forehead.

"Sweet dreams," he said, shutting off the light. My bed was so soft and fluffy, nothing like I'd slept on in China, and I was warm and comfortable, my stomach full of fish and chips and pudding. I could fall asleep in an instant.

When I rolled over, though, there was a giant claw outside my window. I cried out, jumping from my bed, and England ran back into my room, turning on the light.

"What is it? What's wrong?" he asked, wrapping his arms around me. I instantly felt safe.

"In the window," I told him. "There's a monster." England looked, then smiled and waved.

"Aww, they're just little faeries. They won't hurt you, see?"

I looked out the window. I didn't see any little faeries. I saw a giant claw.

"B-But that!" I pointed. He looked again and smiled, this time at me.

"It's only a tree," he said, picking me up and carrying me to the window, pointing down. The claw was attached to a trunk.

"O-Oh," I said. England kissed the top of my head again and tucked me back into bed, sitting down beside me.

"Hong Kong," he said, "I'll teach you a little secret, okay? Any time you think that there's a monster, just remember that they're more afraid of you than you are of them."

"Really?"

"Really!" England smiled. "So, if a monster ever gives you trouble, just show him that you mean business, and he'll go away. Look." England pretended to spit on both of his palms, then rubbed his hands together and made a scary face. A funny, bubbly feeling tickled my stomach, and a giggle slipped past my lips. I couldn't remember the last time I'd laughed.

I pretended to spit on both of my palms and rubbed them together, making a scary face at England. He laughed.

"Perfect," he said. "No monsters are going to mess with you now!" He took my hands and kissed both palms, putting them together and covering my hands with his.

When England had left again, I looked out at the tree branch still hovering outside my window. Sitting up in my bed, I pretended to spit on both palms and rubbed them together, making a mean face. The branch seemed to blow away from my window.

England told me about how he took me to live with him after winning the Opium War. When I was little, he told me that I was just so cute that he had to take me home, but when I got older, he admitted that, after my first-day shopping spree with him, he went out to a pub and drank himself half-blind.

"I couldn't get China's face out of my mind," he told me. "Taking you away from him was worse than everything else I did to him in that war."

I didn't remember much about living with China. My earliest solid memories are of England and my home. Since telling me that he would be taking me back to China, though, England has been telling me more and more about him. He loves pandas and tea, just like I do, and he's an amazing cook. England mumbles that China is an even better cook than he is, which is hard to imagine. I wonder what it will be like to eat in China, without scones or pudding.

England and I are on a plane to China.

"Are you nervous?" he asks me. I shake my head.

"Are you?" I ask. He nods, slowly at first, but then faster, and I can tell from the way his face is flushing that he's upset. "England?" He grabs my hands and kisses my palms, covering my hands with his. Ever since I was little, that's been our secret sign. Even now, as a teenager, the gesture makes me feel small and safe.

It's a long plane ride, but we touch down in China sooner than I thought. England squeezes my hands as the plane slows in the runway. When we stop, just before getting out, England turns to me.

"Listen, Hong Kong," he says. "As soon as you get off this plane, you'll be...you'll be China's again. I won't have custody of you. So I don't want a long, drawn-out goodbye. That isn't fair to China." I nod, and England throws his arms around me, pulling me into a hug. I hug back, squeezing my eyes shut. "I'll call you and write, and I want you to keep in touch, too, all right?"

"I will."

"You're going to be so happy here. China loves you, and he'll take wonderful care of you."

"I know."

"I love you, Hong Kong." His voice is shaking.

"I love you, too, England."

He kisses my palms and covers my hands with his. The pilot comes over the loudspeaker and says that it's time to get off the plane. We're the last passengers to get off, even though we're sitting at the front. He doesn't say so, but I know that England doesn't want to get off the plane. I don't really want to, either.

When we walk into the airport, China is waiting for us. I recognize him immediately from old photo albums England had of the Allies all together. Instead of a military uniform, though, China is wearing a fancy blue shirt and black pants, and his hair is pulled back in a much neater ponytail than in the pictures.

"Did Hong Kong's things get here all right?" England asks.

"They did, ahen," China says. "You bought him so many things. I knew you'd spoil him, ahen." England doesn't say anything, but his neck gets very red, and I know that he's embarrassed. England told me that China would say something unkind to him today, though.

"He doesn't mean it the way it sounds," England had said, but now he seems hurt by the comment.

"Aiya, Hong Kong," China says, putting his arms around me and pulling me close. "You're so big, aru! All grown up, and I missed all of it." He speaks to me in his own language, so I respond in kind.

"Hello, China. It's good to see you." He pulls back and smiles at me.

"Aiya, you're speaking Chinese, and so well, aru! I'm so glad to hear it, Hong Kong."

"England taught it to me," I say, and China's smile disappears. England looks back and forth between us. "He wanted you to be happy," I add quickly.

"Did he?" China's voice is quiet, and he plays with the collar of my shirt, a Chinese-style shirt that I didn't want to buy but that England insisted I wear today.

"I have to go catch my flight back to London," England says, and I wonder why he doesn't speak Chinese; it seems to make China happy.

"You could have sent Hong Kong alone, ahen," China says, still fiddling with my shirt and not looking at England. England's crooked smile makes a fleeting appearance before he turns away.

"It was good to see you again, China," he says.

"...You as well," China says, turning and bowing. England bows awkwardly, then turns to me and rubs his hands together. It would look funny to pretend to spit on his palms first and make a mean face after, but I know that he's telling me one last time that he loves me. I rub my hands back, and England smiles and leaves. I watch him until the crowds of passengers in the busy airport completely block him from my view.

China is really happy to have me here; he hugs me again when England leaves, even more tightly than before, and says again how tall I am. When he pulls back, his eyes are wet and glistening, and I remember how England told me that taking me away from China was the worst thing he did.

"It's so good to have you home, Hong Kong," China says.

I may be starting an exciting new life in China, but I miss my home in England.


	3. China

I count the hours from when England's plane leaves to when he would arrive at home in London. At the exact moment that I think he's arrived, China's phone rings.

China groans at having to leave the sofa where we've been sitting since arriving at China's house; he's talked non-stop from the time England left us in the airport. I know that he missed me when I was away, but I was hoping to have time to see my new (old?) room and unpack, and China hasn't left me alone once. When he gets up to answer the phone, I watch him, knowing that England is the one calling.

China picks up the phone, his greeting polite but far less so than I know it normally is; I can't help but think that he, too, knows who is on the other end of the call.

"Ah, it's you, aru. How was your flight?" He's asking out of obligation; I can hear it in his voice. "Mm. What? He's fine, aru. He's with me now, isn't he?"

England is asking for me. I stand up and hurry to China's side, waiting for him to turn the phone over so that I can hear England's voice again. China doesn't look at me.

"Hmph. Of course you should know that. Yes, you're interrupting, aru. I'm sure you are. Goodbye, aru."

I hold out my hand for the phone, but China hangs up. My eyes follow the phone, my hand still extended, still empty. China turns back to me with a sigh and smiles, putting his hands on his hips.

"Ai-ya! So bothersome," he says, eyes flickering to my outstretched hand. He takes it in his own and puts his other arm around me, leading me back to the couch. "We were having such a nice conversation."

"That was England." There's no point in asking China what we both know to be true. He nods.

"Yes, aru. So rude, thinking that I can't even take care of you for such a short ti-"

"Didn't he ask for me?" England had told me time and time again to be respectful of China, who valued that quality highly, but I can't help the question from spilling out of my mouth. China frowns.

"He asked how you were doing, yes, but-"

"Didn't he ask to speak with me?" I'm interrupting again, but my hand, clasped in China's, still feels empty.

"Hong Kong," China says sternly, though his eyes seem more tired than angry when he looks at me. "I see you learned your manners from him, aru."

Something inside of me hurts when China says that. His voice is so cold, his tone so disdainful, and England doesn't deserve that kind of treatment. I don't understand why it was so important to England that I learn to be mindful of China's customs; why should I be respectful of someone who speaks that way about England? Who wouldn't hand over the phone?

"I wanted to talk to England," I say. At China's struck expression, I correct myself. "I _want_ to talk to England."

"You're acting like a spoiled child," China says, and I know that, in his mind, he's insulting England's raising of me again. I pull my hand out of China's grasp. He looks down, drawing back his hand hesitantly. "Hong Kong..."

China's voice isn't as judgmental now as it was a moment ago. A part of me feels proud, but a part of me also feels guilty for the quiet sadness I can hear as he says my name. China looks at me again, and I am shocked to see just how much hurt is in his eyes.

"He's been gone for only a few hours, aru. I haven't seen you for a century and a half. Don't you want to talk to _me_?"

I don't know what to say to him. I don't even know how to look at him. I turn to the sofa instead, fidgeting with the sleeve of the Chinese shirt England insisted that I wear today.

I can't tell China that the answer to his question is "no."

I don't want to talk to China. I barely even remember living here as a child. There are a few vague memories, and then there is only England. I think that China knows how I feel. He's thousands of years old - England told me - and has seen many things, endured many trials and tribulations. I don't want to hurt China, but I can't help resenting that I had to leave England behind for him. While I look away, I can feel China's sad gaze upon me.

He brushes back my bangs and sighs, his thumbs tracing my eyebrows, the one reminder that I am still England's. China kisses my forehead and leans against me, his hands gently cupping my cheeks. He rocks me back and forth as we stand together, and I feel silly until he starts to sing.

China's voice is soft but strong, and the song he sings is familiar to me; it must be a lullaby from my childhood. I close my eyes and listen, breathing in deeply. I can smell China's hair - soap and tea leaves.

At this moment, I remember living with China. I remember rocking together before bed. I remember his lullabies and his stories. I remember falling asleep in his arms, breathing soap and tea leaves into my dreams. I remember that China was my home.

Is my home.

Is one of my homes.

China stops singing, and I'm torn between wanting him to continue and being glad that he has stopped. I have something that I want to tell him.

"China?"

He looks at me, and he seems so much older and softer now - like my parent. Like England.

"I want to talk to you."

We talk late into the night. I'm surprised; I have so much to say to him now. He sits cross-legged on the couch and beams, listening to my every word as I tell him about my life. I know that it must hurt to hear about England, but every time I try to abridge the story for China's sake, he urges me on, insisting that he wants to hear every detail.

With his blessing, I'm bursting with stories. Our conversation becomes less about my life and more about England. The hurt in China's eyes is getting worse and worse with every minute. Every story ends with 'I love England' on the tip of my tongue; even though I'm not saying the words themselves, I think that China can hear them.

"Ai-ya," he says softly after I've finished telling him about when England taught me a specialty of his - how to play guitar. "You've done so many things, haven't you, Hong Kong? What a wonderful life, aru."

He means it; I can tell that China is really happy that my childhood was a good one. He's just sad that he wasn't a part of it.

"Well, I have a lot of new experiences to look forward to here in China, right?" I ask, and China's eyes light up. Before I can stop myself, I add, "England told me stories and showed me books in the library."

China's smile dims, but he catches himself and straightens his shoulders, putting a hand on my head. "Very good, aru," he says.

"I didn't mean..." I say, though I don't know how to end the sentence without hurting China's feelings. His eyes are warm, though, and he kisses my forehead.

"It's late, aru," he says. "You should get some rest. We'll have breakfast together tomorrow, aru. Is there anything in particular that you'd like to eat?"

I want bacon and eggs, with toast and marmalade, but I can't say that to China.

"No, nothing in particular."

He shows me to my new (old?) bedroom. All of my suitcases and boxes are piled next to a canopy bed, and new red sheets are on the mattress. I remember what England told me about the color red being a symbol of good luck in China, so I smile when I see the linens China picked out for me.

"I didn't unpack your things, aru," China says, toying with his ponytail. "I didn't know where you'd want your things to go."

I'm reminded of when England first showed me my bedroom in London. Over the years, I'd filled it with my toys and games, but especially books. When I packed my things, I wanted to leave some of my belongings at England's house.

"I want to have things here for when I stay over," I told him. England hugged me tightly when I said that, but whispered into my hair that I should take everything with me.

"You might want to read a certain book there, and I don't want you not to have it with you," he said, but I know now that it was an excuse. England knew that I wouldn't be coming home to stay over.

I tell China that I'm going to unpack, and he asks if I need any help. When I tell him that I don't - I make up the excuse that I only plan to start the job before going to bed - he smiles and wishes me good night, telling me that he's just down the hall if I need him.

I stay up for hours unpacking all of my things. It really is difficult; my dresser is much smaller now, and all of my clothes won't fit. The desk isn't big enough for all of the schoolwork and supplies I brought. Even so, I fit my belongings where I can and keep the rest in their boxes.

The only thing that I really don't like about my new (old?) room is that there is no bookcase. I don't even have a proper shelf. Most of my boxes from home are filled with volumes - history textbooks, fairy tales, and adventure novels. They're my treasures.

Any time England went away on a business trip, even when I was much older, he always brought back a book or two for me. Before I had to pack for China, my bedroom was, as England called it, my library. Here in China, my books are forced to lie in boxes.

England bought me a going-away present to have in China - a book, naturally.

"You're going to love this," he told me, wrapping me up in the kind of hug only England could give. "It just came out, but it's wonderful."

This book is the first I see when I open my library box. _Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone_. I take it out of the box, sit on my bed, and decide to read a few pages before I go to sleep.

I can't put it down.

China knocks on my door and lets himself into my room just as I'm turning the last page.

"Ai-ya! You're up early, and reading - how scholarly of you, aru," he says approvingly. I look at him, then at the desk clock I'd just set up a little - oh - a _long_ while ago. It's already morning.

"Oh," I say, my eyelids suddenly feeling heavy.

"I made breakfast, aru," he says, coming over and taking my hands, pulling me out of bed. "We can talk some more, aru."

He takes the book out of my hands, and my fingers feel empty without Harry, Ron, and Hermione. Automatically, I reach for my book again, but China has already turned it over and is studying the cover.

"What is this, aru?" he asks.

"Harry Potter," I say, as if that should be obvious. I know that China understands English. "It was a going-away present from England - it's brand new."

"I see." China puts the book down on my bed and resumes trying to get me up. "Let's eat, Hong Kong, aru."

I get up, and China seems to realize that I'm wearing the same clothes from the night before. His eyes dart to Harry Potter on my bed, and he frowns.

"Why don't you change, aru?" he suggests. "I'll fix your plate."

"Thank you," I reply, not knowing what else to say and hoping that I haven't colored China's opinion of England further.

China goes downstairs, and I change quickly, having caught the scent of breakfast. I can't identify what China has made based on the smell, but my mouth is watering. When I come down the stairs, China is on the phone, his back to me.

"I know that it's late for you. I just..." China's voice trails off, and he twists the phone cord around his index finger. "I'm sorry for what I said to you before. He's wonderful, aru. Thank you."

I look at the clock. It has to be one in the morning in London - perhaps my reason for suddenly feeling so tired - but China continues his conversation regularly, and I know that he's talking to England.

"He's so good and so smart," China says, his voice hitching. They're talking about me, and I can't help but feel proud at China's praise.

Breakfast is on the table, and I go to sit down at the plate China put out for me; he turns and catches sight of me, looking startled for a second before his expression softens into a smile.

"England, do you want to talk to him?" China asks. "He just came down."


	4. Family

England calls on Friday nights. At first, he didn't call as regularly, but China could tell that I looked forward to his calls, and it became a weekly event. I tell him all about my new life with China.

"China's brother Korea visits often, but China always kicks him out," I tell him one night. "It reminds me of when France comes to visit you." England laughs.

"Yes, he's been doing that more frequently lately," he says. "America's been around, too."

"America has?" America annoys England sometimes, but they really do care about each other, and America is my favorite big brother.

"Mm. He was asking for you. I'll tell him you said hi, but don't be surprised if he drops in over at China's place soon."

"Okay." I can hear in England's voice that distant tone that signals that he's about to end the conversation. Before he can say goodbye, I blurt out, "Why don't you come over, too?"

"What?" he asks.

"Why don't you come over for dinner?" I ask, twisting the phone cord around my finger. "China says that dinner is a special time for family. You should come."

England is quiet on the other end of the phone for a long time.

"England?"

"Ah...no, I don't think that I will," he says, and I can practically hear his crooked smile through the phone. He's uncomfortable. "China doesn't want to see me."

"I want to see you."

"I know, Hong Kong. I want to see you, too, but you've only been living with China for a short while, and you should really be spending more time with him."

"It's only dinner," I protest. "Please?"

"Hong Kong, I-"

The phone is yanked out of my hand, England's last comment cut off, and I turn to see China pulling the phone to his ear.

"Opium. Hong Kong invited you to dinner, aru. It's rude to turn down such an invitation."

I blush at the annoyance on China's face, and I can hear England murmuring an awkward response.

"Right, aru. Friday at eight. Mm. See you then, aru." China looks as if he wants to hang up, but he hands the phone back to me so that I can say goodbye first. England says goodbye and that he'll see me Friday. After I hang up, I turn to China.

"I'm sorry for asking him over without permission," I say, still feeling the heat of my blush.

"It's all right, aru," China says, brushing my bangs back and smiling. "You lived with him for more than a century. I think I can handle having dinner with him, aru."

Sure enough, America drops in for a visit the next day. I'm in my bedroom, curled up with a new fantasy book - England has been sending them frequently, along with a bookcase for my collection, both gifts to China's annoyance - when I hear America arrive.

"Yo, China! How's it going, man?"

China's voice is much quieter, so I can't hear exactly what his response is. I can imagine the look on his face, though.

"Cool! So, hey, where's Hong Kong? I haven't seen the little dude in ages, thought I'd pop by!"

My finger hesitates mid-flip on the corner of my page. It has been a while since I've seen America, and hearing that he's come to visit as England said he would is great, but I'm just getting to the good part...

Not that it matters. I soon hear familiar footsteps clomping up the stairs, America's booming voice accompanying them, followed by China's light steps and quiet protests. I put in my bookmark just as America bursts through the door.

"Hong Kong!" he yells, throwing his arms out. Luckily, I grew up with America as practically my big brother, and I know enough to brace myself to avoid being crushed in America's arms. He's never known his own strength.

"America," I say, voice muffled against the bunched material of America's bomber jacket. He smells of fast food - it's a familiar scent to me. England would be mortified. "It's good to see you."

"Ai-ya! Get off of him, aru!" China says, yanking America off of me. America yelps but recovers quickly, plopping down next to me on my bed and grinning.

"Man, did you get tall! Dude, I feel so old saying stuff like that! I'm like your uber-lame big brother!"

"You _are_ my uber-lame big brother," I say, and America's eyes get all shiny. Before I know it, I'm being crushed in another french-fry-scented bear hug. China is yelling again.

Eventually, we all end up sitting together on the couch downstairs, China grudgingly serving tea. America pulls his knees up to his chest and grabs a throw pillow to hug to himself, making himself comfortable next to me.

"England says you're doing good!" America says.

"Well," I correct.

"That's what he said, too, when I asked!"

"Why are you here, aru?" China mutters.

"To see Hong Kong, of course!" America says, throwing his arm around and yanking me into his armpit. It's awkward, and squishy - and America.

I haven't felt this homesick in a while.

"How is...everyone?" I ask, eyes stinging, feeling China's gaze upon me. America, releases me from his hug.

"Cool, cool, you know!" he says. "France is being all...y'know, French, and England's a grouch as always!" I open my mouth to defend England, but America cuts me off. "I know, I know - 'England isn't a grouch!' You're the only one who sticks up for him, Hong Kong!"

"He isn't grouchy," I say. It's not entirely true, but his grouchiness is never directed at me; if it weren't for America and France, I wouldn't even know what England's grumpy face looks like.

China bursts into laughter, and I realize that I said that last part aloud. America presses his lips together.

"Hey, little dude, I came here to see you, you know!"

I apologize, even though what I said is the truth. America is instantly appeased and continues talking, which amuses China further.

"So, like, England kicked me out of his house the other day, which is normal, but, like, when I asked why, he was all, 'I have to make a call,' and I was all, 'Dude, it's Friday night, get a life,' and he was all, 'I'm calling Hong Kong, you tosser,' and I was all like, 'Ooh, can I talk to him,' and he was like, 'No.' Isn't that lame?"

"I'm going to get more snacks, aru," China giggles, getting up and padding off to the kitchen before he really loses it.

"Thanks, dude!" America calls after him. "So, Hong Kong, how do you like living with China?" America's ever-present wide smile softens. "Like, you were always quiet and stuff, so I can't say that England's place has been quiet without you, but...England's place has been quiet without you, little dude."

My eyes sting again, so I answer quickly.

"I like living with China," I say, "but I do miss England. He calls on Fridays, though, so I'm glad that we're still in contact. He worries about China, though."

America raises his eyebrows, and I hesitate. I hadn't meant to say that aloud, but, at the same time, it feels nice to say it out loud for once.

"Why's he worried about China?" America asks.

"I think that it hurts China's feelings that England and I are still close and that I want to stay in contact with him," I say. "I mean, it's been a long time since I saw China. I love China, but England _did_ raise me."

"Mm, that's how it goes when your 'rents are split, I guess," America says, leaning back on the couch, throw pillow still clenched in his hands.

"'Rents?"

"Well, China and England are kind of like your parents, right? They raise you!" America's smile has become its normal goofy self again.

"I...suppose that's one way of looking at it."

"So, England calls you on Friday nights?" America asks. China returns from the kitchen with another tray of snacks. His cheeks are a little pink, and I wonder with a pang if he overheard what I said to America. "Maybe I should get in on this call! I'll go to England's place on Friday!"

"England is coming here on Friday for a family dinner," I say before I can stop myself. China's cheeks flush from barely pink to bright red. I try to send him an apologetic look, but America cuts me off.

"You're having a family dinner?" he booms excitedly. "And China's cooking? Cool! Man, I'm so there!"

"Wh-what...?" I ask.

"Yeah!" America yells. "That's gonna be awesome, man! Nice! Family dinner!"

After inviting himself to our dinner, America heads out to visit Japan, promising to bring "something totally cool" with him on Friday. I apologize to China again.

"It's all right," he says. "America is just boisterous because he is still young, aru. I don't mind having him over. Besides," China adds, a devious smile creeping onto his face, "England will be so pleased to see him, aru."

The next day, the doorbell rings while China is cooking lunch.

"Hong Kong, would you get the door, aru?" he asks, flapping his oven-mitt-clad hands at me.

When I open the door, France is standing there. He spreads his arms wide when he sees me.

"Hong Kong, how big you've gotten! It's Uncle France, and he's so happy to see you!"

I respond exactly as England taught me. I shut the door.

"Who is it, aru?" China calls from the kitchen. France rings the doorbell a few more times. "Hong Kong, did you get the door?"

"It's France," I call back.

"Don't let him in, aru," China says. I smile; China and England are not so different.

Eventually, of course, France gets into the house. Once again, China and I wind up on the couch with a loud guest, a plate of snacks, and grudgingly-served tea.

"What is this that I hear about a family dinner?" France asks, leaning so close to me that I can see the tears clinging to his eyelashes. I lean back instinctively. "America told me that China was making an extravagant, decadent meal for your family, but I was not invited! Oh, Hong Kong, don't you want to spend time with your Uncle France?"

"Please stop talking about yourself in the third person, aru," China says. "And you are not Hong Kong's uncle. I don't doubt that England will agree with me, aru."

France continues to look at me, though, sniffling loudly, his lower lip trembling. My eyes flicker to China uncertainly; I realize my mistake only when it is too late.

"Oh, Hong Kong!" France cries, throwing his arms around me. I nearly choke on the scent of his heavily-shampooed hair in my face. "I knew that you wanted your beloved uncle to come! The postman must have misplaced my invitation!"

Content with his misinterpretation of my look as a moment of weakness, France excuses himself and flits off, eyes tearless and bright. I apologize profusely to China.

"It's not your fault, aru," China says cheerfully. "It's England's."

Friday night's dinner will be interesting.

On Friday night, China and I scramble to prepare for dinner. We've cleaned the house from top to bottom. I set the table and help China cook enough food for tonight.

At seven thirty, the doorbell rings, and China panics because he hasn't put out the appetizers yet. I run to answer the door while China rips open a bag of chips and curses in Mandarin when its contents spill all over the floor.

I wonder if it's England already. He usually arrives at events a quarter of an hour early, not half an hour. Still, it can't be America or France this early.

It's Russia.

"Hello, little Hong Kong," he says, patting my head and smiling in a way that is somewhat disconcerting. "Is China here?"

"Yes. Do you want me to get him?"

"Please."

I return to the kitchen to tell China that Russia is at our door. China's face falls, the plate of chips and dip in his hands shaking. I take the last tray of appetizers into the sitting room while China goes to the door.

"You are so busy tonight!" Russia says.

"Ah, yes, well..." China hesitates, and I can tell what he's thinking. "I am...having a dinner party, aru."

"Do you want to stay?" I ask, and China shoots me a look, but we both know how this conversation is going to end. We might as well feign control over its outcome.

Russia lights up. "I would love to! Thank you," he says, and even though his smile is a little scary, I also think that it's a little sad. I feel better about inviting Russia to dinner.

"Okay," China says, exhaling. "We need another place setting at the table. Hong Kong?"

"I'll get it," I say.

Russia goes into the sitting room, and I join him once I've put out his place setting. China, having finished with dinner preparations, runs upstairs to change into proper dinner party attire.

Russia smiles at me. "China is very glad to have you back," he says. "That's good."

"I'm glad to be here," I say. Russia pats my head again, very gently.

"You look like him," he says, and I can tell that he means it as a compliment as opposed to an observation. I thank him, and he seems pleased. I wonder why he makes China and England so nervous - Russia seems very kind to me.

At seven forty-five, the doorbell rings. I get up to answer the door, but China is running down the stairs to beat me there. He looks as he did the day he met England and me at the airport, his hair combed and tied back neatly, his daily clothes replaced with a red silk shirt and black pants.

"You look so nice," I tell him, and, in light of my conversation with Russia, I feel a bit self-conscious. He smiles his thanks at me before straightening his shoulders and opening the door.

Dressed in his best suit, England is standing on its other side. In one hand is a gift bag and the other, a bouquet of roses. Tucked under that arm is a stuffed animal - a cat with a ribbon on it - that I sincerely hope is for China and not me.

"Hello," England says awkwardly. "I-It's good to see...thank you for inviting...you look..." He can't seem to decide what to say to China, who, for his part, looks completely confident, almost smug. China places a hand on his hip.

"Hello," he answers, raising his eyebrows. "It's good to see you, too. Hong Kong invited you, not I, aru. And..." China's cheeks regain their twinge of pink. "You dressed appropriately for a dinner party. Couldn't be bothered to brush your hair, of course, aru."

"I-I brushed it!" England protests, flustered, and I smile, because I know that he's telling the truth. If China's laugh is any indication, he knows so, too. "A-Anyway! These are for you." England thrusts the bouquet out for China, who takes it curiously. England also turns over the doll - to my great relief - and China's eyes light up, but I see him press his lips together hard in an attempt to hide that the gift pleases him.

"Thank you," he says. "Come in."

England walks in and finally sees me standing behind China. He leans towards me, then comes to a jerky stop, glancing over at China, who turns away slightly to close the door. I want a hug - it's been months since I've seen England - but he just turns to me and smiles crookedly, rubbing his hands together. I rub my hands together back.

England hands me the gift bag, and I leave it by the stairs to take with me when I go to my room, but not before taking a peek inside. It looks like a few music albums and a hoodie. England smiles as I peek.

"It's getting colder, you know," he says as I pull at the hoodie's sleeve. I can't help smiling.

We go into the sitting room, and England seems startled to see Russia sitting there. China sighs softly, but keeps up a proper host's smile in front of Russia.

"Well, we figured that he made six and evened out our party, aru," China explains lightly. England turns to him, confused.

"Six?" he asks. China and I look at him.

"Yes, six," China says, glancing at me. The doorbell rings again, and I go to answer it, knowing that it will answer England's most basic questions.

America and Japan are standing on our doorstep. "Hey, Hong Kong!" America says in his booming voice. I can hear England groaning behind me and feel a pang of guilt. "I brought Japan as my date!"

"He doesn't mean that," Japan says carefully. "America invited me to a family dinner, though I didn't realize we were coming to China's house." He looks a bit uneasy, but, upon hearing Japan's voice, China has come to the door behind me.

"Japan!" China says, spreading his arms. "I didn't know that you were coming, aru. I'm so happy to see you!"

"Hello, China," Japan says, bowing.

"Hey, woah, China, you look hot! Hope you didn't dress up for me" America says with a grin. "Japan's my date!"

"Please stop saying that," Japan says, flustered.

England also comes to the door. "Japan!" he says. "It's good to see you."

"Oh, England," Japan replies, looking a bit relieved. "I'm so glad that you're here."

"Why is everybody standing over here in the doorway?" Russia asks pleasantly, standing behind China. Clearly not having noticed him, China jumps a mile.

"Ai-ya! When did you sneak up behind me, aru?"

"China, my flower, why are you so distraught?" France asks, strutting up to China's door with an extravagant bouquet in one hand, a bottle of wine in the other. England's expression immediately darkens.

"What are _you_ doing here?" he spits.

"Yo, France!" America says. "I didn't know you were coming, dude!"

"Maybe I should go," Japan says.

"No, stay, aru!" China urges.

"You invited France?" England fumes.

"This is a big party," Russia says.

"Dude, how much food did ya make, China?" America asks.

"I brought a bouquet for you, my sweet," France says, handing the flowers over to China. England pushes the bouquet away.

"Why are you here, you wino git?"

"It's a family dinner, and I'm Hong Kong's beloved uncle!"

"You most certainly are not!"

"That's what I said, aru!"

Our group has slowly moved back into the foyer, France shutting the door behind him. I look around as everyone continues to talk at once.

"I have to put out another place setting, aru," China says.

"I don't have to stay, really," Japan says. "I shouldn't have come uninvited."

"Dude, of course you're invited! You can't go!" America says. "Right, China?"

"You invited Japan and not me?" France bawls.

"Aha! So you _weren't_ invited!" England snaps.

"Of course he wasn't invited, he invited himself!" China says, pointing accusingly at France.

"Hong Kong wants me here!" France wails.

"Nobody wants you here!" England yells.

"Oh, sweet, chips and dip!" America says, grabbing Japan's hand. "Sit next to me!"

"America! Y-Y-You're holding my hand! I've never- you can't just-!"

"No wonder China was so busy today," Russia says.

"Why are you here, dude, you're not even family!" America says. Russia's smile remains, but his face darkens.

"China invited me," he says.

"Hong Kong invited you," China says.

"Hong Kong invited me as well!" France says.

"Hong Kong invited us, too," America says.

"_You_ invited me, America," Japan corrects, staring down at their still-interlocked hands.

"I did, didn't I?"

"This is ridiculous," England snaps, shaking his head. "I didn't realize that you were inviting a whole slew of people. I thought that this was a special dinner."

"It was supposed to be!" I yell, and everyone else gets quiet.

I don't know when my hands clenched into fists, or how I ended up in the middle of this entire group of adults, or why my eyes keep stinging and my voice sounds funny. All I know is that this isn't at all the family dinner that I wanted.

"France and America invited themselves to our family dinner," I say, "and that was my fault for telling them about it. I'm sorry. I only invited England. Well, and Russia. I invited Russia."

Russia's smile is a little less scary now.

"I wanted England to come have dinner and spend the night with China and me," I say. "Then America wanted to come, and I miss America sometimes, too, so that was okay, and then France wanted to come, and then Russia came over to visit, and I didn't want him to be excluded, and..."

I shake my head, running out of steam. They're all staring at me. I feel like a little kid.

"I'm sorry," I blurt out, because it's the only thing I can think to say. "Please excuse me!" I hurry upstairs to my room, aching from embarrassment.

I can't believe I just made a scene like that. China must be so embarrassed to bring people into his house and have me act like a spoiled brat. England must be mortified; China will get angry at him and think that he raised me this way. They'll fight even more. England won't come back.

My parents. That's what America called them when he came to visit, and I suppose he's right. England and China are my parents. They live far away from one another and don't know how to talk to each other. They love me but not each other. We don't live in the same house.

I realize that I want that. I want my family to live together in the same house. I want my parents to like each other.

I really feel like a child now.

Somebody knocks on my door, and I say, "Come in," even though my face is buried in my pillow. The door opens, and two sets of footsteps come in.

"Hong Kong?" China's voice is gentler than I thought it would be after I acted out like that. I feel the side of my bed dip slightly as he sits, and he puts a hand on my back, rubbing it soothingly. "Are you okay?"

"We didn't mean to upset you like that." England's voice is just as I remember it, pretending to be stern when really tender. He sits on my other side, running his fingers through my hair. "It was selfish. We're sorry."

"I'm sorry that I embarrassed you like that," I mumble into my pillow.

"You didn't embarrass us, aru," China says.

"We embarrassed ourselves," England says. "This was supposed to be a nice dinner, and we've gone and spoiled it."

"I spoiled it myself," I say, lifting my head and sitting up on my bed. "I told America about it. I should've known that he'd want to come. I don't mind if he visits!" I add quickly. "I just wanted it to be us tonight."

"And that's okay, aru," China assures me, brushing back my bangs. "You don't have to feel guilty about that."

"China's right," England says, eyes softening as I turn to face him. I lean against him, and he hugs me tightly; I know that he's been waiting to do that, too. England kisses the top of my head.

"England and I talked, aru," China adds. "We thought that we could do this every once in a while - have dinner together." I look at him in surprise. "Just because we had a little hiccup tonight doesn't mean that we can't ever have dinner together again, aru."

"We both love you very much, Hong Kong," England says, his arms around me loosening reluctantly.

"I-I know." My voice sounds funny again, but my eyes don't begin to sting until I add, "I love you both, too."

China makes a soft sound and scoots closer to England and me, wrapping his arms around me and leaning his forehead against mine. England chuckles, and I loop one arm around China.

I'm surprised. For two people who barely talk to one another, who struggle to be civil to one another, who don't even seem to like one another, England and China...

I don't want them to see that I'm getting emotional, so I quickly tighten my arms around each of them and pull them closer. They respond the same way, hugging me tightly, each of them kissing me - England on my forehead, China on my cheek - and I can see that they're both a little emotional, too. For some reason, this makes me laugh, and I pull them even closer, the three of us tangled in this awkward, wonderful hug.

I am hugging my parents.

"Did everybody leave?" I ask once we've disentangled ourselves and pretended not to notice as each of us wiped our eyes. They look at me in confusion. "Downstairs," I explain. "Did America and everybody else leave?"

China and England exchange looks. England is stupefied; China is horrified.

At once, we all jump up off of my bed and scramble for the door, running downstairs where our guests are waiting. Tonight will certainly be the strangest, loudest, craziest dinner I have ever had in my life, but it will be with my family. China says that, in the future, England will come over sometimes to have dinner with us. It will be like a tradition.

I have a feeling that having half a dozen extra guests may also become a tradition, though.


End file.
